I'd Rather Pass a Kidney Stone Than Another Night
by bookdragon01
Summary: I'd Rather Pass a Kidney Stone Than Another Night with You...Sometimes you just can't get a song out for your head, especially a bad country western tune.


**I'd Rather Pass a Kidney Stone Than Another Night with You**

Summary: Sometimes you just can't get a song out for your head, especially a bad country western tune.

Rating: T, because McCoy cusses - I just can't write him any other way.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plotline. Even the song title is from a contest for worst made-up country titles.

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It was one of those tunes, twangy rock-a-billy with silly lyrics just barely bordering on clever that clung to your brain with the persistence of bumblegum tangled in a little girl's hair. It had been popular shortly before he had joined Starfleet, and frankly had become for a time a personal anthem, since it described so well how he felt about his ex, Jocelyn. Once he was at the Academy, he had meant to purge it from his brain, but an annoying kid from Iowa had known it too and thought it was damn funny to use the title phrase to describe some of the women he had regretted bedding because they'd gotten clingy and wouldn't leave things at just a one-night stand.

But the annoying thing had finally fallen off the charts and more amusing descriptors had taken Jim's fancy for conquests he wanted to avoid. And that was years ago now, so Bones had been blessedly free of it for some time. Some time, that is, until a patient pulled out of a rough situation had to come to in sickbay inexplicably mumbling that tune. Humming it more really, but the friend who had been sitting at his bedside had caught the tune and when he finally opened his eyes and looked to be all there, she'd sung the chorus at him. The patient had laughed, as had everyone else (except Spock, of course). And that one time Bones had even enjoyed it, since given the night they'd just been through, those words took on a whole different meaning.

But that was a week ago and now he still couldn't get the damn thing out of his head. It didn't help that it seemed to have similarly infected several nurses and orderlies who would unconsciously hum it, pushing it right back into McCoy's forebrain. It was like some damn space virus, except that it had been written by some idiot with a beer gut and a banjo back on earth. "I'd Rather Pass a Kidney Stone Than Another Night with You" was fast qualifying in the doctor's mind as an infectious disease. The worst part was that the lyrics would have been clever two hundred years ago, but modern ultrasonics and drugs meant they applied to less than one in a thousand patients today. Of course, the idiot with the beer gut claimed to have been one of them and had made hay promoting it by telling the tale of how passing a kidney stone was as close as a man could come to experiencing the pain of natural childbirth.

McCoy sat down in his office and put his head in his hands, realizing that he was thinking about it again. This was a disease that might require radical treatment, but he had no idea what would work short of beating his head against a wall until brain damage wiped out the cells storing it. As he was contemplating the merits of that approach, Jim walked in, _whistling the tune_.

"GAH!!!!" McCoy yelled.

Jim took a step back, holding up his hands. "What? What did I do?"

"That song. It's going to drive me crazy!"

"What you mean, '_I'd rather pass a kidney stone _-" Jim yelped as McCoy all but tackled him and slapped a hand over his mouth.

"_So help me God_, Jim. If you sing those lyrics again in my hearing, I'll inject you with something that will make your tongue go completely numb for the next two weeks!" McCoy carefully removed his hand from Jim's mouth, ready to slap it back shut just in case he decided to be a wise-ass.

"Okay, Bones." Jim said with smirk. "Guess I should cancel ordering the songtrack for your birthday then?"

McCoy pinned him with a glare that would have melted tritanium.

"C'mon Bones, it can't be that bad. I hadn't heard it for years until last week and that was pretty funny."

"That was last week. Now I can't get the damn thing out of my head!" Bones cried. "It's like it's on some kind of continuous loop and every time I think it's finally shutting down, someone hums or whistles, or - God forbid! - sings a bar and that evil bastard and his banjo are right back playing in my head again."

"So you're trying to get rid of it?"

"Yes!!"

"Well, that's simple." Jim said.

Bones scowled at him. "Really. You know how to get rid of it?"

"Sure." Jim grinned. "Genius-level, remember?"

McCoy rolled his eyes. "So why don't you give me your genius explanation?"

"Well, it's not your traditional earworm since it's not a circular song with unfinished bits like a jingle. But it sticks with you because it's basically junk food for your brain." Jim said.

"Junk food for your brain." Bones said sarcastically. "_That'_s the genius explanation."

"Bear with me. It's like you know you should eat fruits and veggies and whole grains, but what the primitive starving-caveman part of your brain really wants is fat and carbs and sugar. So you know you should like salad, but want you really _want_ are choco-mallows and sometimes you just _have to_ have them. Same thing with music. You know you should like Mozart and Prokofiev and T'pasa, but what the _primitive_ part of your brain _wants_ is simplicity and repetition and generally silly lyrics. No matter how much your higher brain is disgusted by it, that primitive part sometimes just has to have them. And when it gets a good one, losing it is like trying to take a bag of choco-mallows away from a 4 year old." Jim smiled like he'd just delivered a definitive, irrefutable argument.

Bones stared at him. "What is it with you and choco-mallows?"

Jim waved his hands. "That doesn't matter. What matters is the harder you try not to think about it, the more you can't help it. It's like trying to stop after eating one potato chip."

McCoy planted his face in his palm. The song had clearly eaten his higher brain function because the kid was actually making a weird sort of sense. "Okay, let's say I buy this cockamamie theory. _How does it help me get the song out of my head_?"

"Just like you'd the choco-mallows away from the 4 year old. Diversion and distraction. Offer your brain a different treat."

"Jim, it's not like I haven't tried listening to other music." Bones said in an exasperated tone. "It just doesn't help for long. This tune just keeps popping back up like a mutant gopher."

"Well that might take more serious measures then." Jim said. "Instead of replacing it, maybe you need to sort of binge on bad music until your brain can't stand anymore? You know, sort of like the week after Halloween when you've had so much candy you can't stand to look another choco- ...that is, another piece of candy in the face."

"Uh-huh." Bones looked at Jim skeptically.

"I have the perfect thing." Jim flashed a trademark grin. "A collection of some of the dumbest, catchy-est music of all time."

"And _why_ would you have a collection like that?"

"Doesn't matter." Jim waved it off. "Just come by my quarters tonight and we'll listen to whole thing. If that doesn't do the trick, nothing will."

McCoy decided he was truly desperate, because the idea was makng a weird sort of sense. "Okay. Right after Alpha shift."

"Great! And bring your bottle of Jack. These tunes are lot more fun with some liquor."

Well, at least that explained why Jim had them...

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Bones had shown up dutifully at Jim's door with a fifth of Jack carried in an old-style medical case. It was more than three quarters gone by the time they'd finished Jim's worst-of playlist, which truly did include some godawful bad tunes and lyrics. _Yummy Yummy Yummy (I Got Love In My Tummy)_ was something Bones could live happily without ever hearing again, not to mention an abomination with the lyrics:

_Someone left the cake out in the rain_

_I don't think that I can take it_

_'Cause it took so long to bake it_

_And I'll never have that recipe again_

_Oh, no!_

Sweet Jesus, what had that lyricist been smoking?

However, McCoy had to guiltily admit to himself that he actually enjoyed a few of them (but then who wouldn't at least get a laugh out of _Moon Cowboys Ride Bareback_ or _Redneck Martians Stole My Baby_*, not to mention _Legendary Chicken Fairy_*?) Unfortunately, most of it was pop. And you just couldn't beat even bad country with rock/pop, at least in McCoy's opinion. The few country tunes included were not so much catchy as funny for their heavy-handed sexual innuendo (it was Jim's collection after all).

After the last song (_Digital Dick) _Jim looked hopefully, if somewhat blearily, at Bones. "So did that do that trick?"

Bones paused and listened to his own thoughts. So far so good. He was just about to say so, when Jim crowed, "Yes! We banished the song-that-must-not-be-named!"

...And then it was back, popping out like a cockroach from under some dark corner of his brain. Beat thumped his head on the table.

"So that's a 'no' then?" Jim asked.

"No." Bones sighed.

"Hmmmm..." Jim said starting for the computer terminal, "The only thing left to try is disco."

McCoy shook his head emphatically. "_Absolutely Not._ That stuff has only ever cropped up in dysfunctional societies in the grip of borderline mass-hysteria. No matter how bad I want this thing out of head, it's not worth listening to disco."

"I guess that's it then, Bones. I don't know what else to try."

"Well, at least you did try, kid. Just hope you don't end up with any of these here songs stuck in your brain for making the effort."

"Nah." Jim said. "That sort of thing never happens to me."

"What do you _mean_ it never happens? You mean to tell me that you never get a song stuck in your head?" McCoy almost growled.

"Sorry. It's just never happened. At least not for more than a few minutes." Jim shrugged.

"You have got to be kidding."

"I guess people like me are just immune." Jim said with a somewhat tipsy smile.

"People like you?"

"You know, young, hot, brilliant - just got too much going on for a song to take over my stream of consciousness."

Bones glared at him, but Jim had had too much Jack to pick up the danger in that looked and grinned - actually grinned! - back. McCoy narrowed his eyes. There was one song even more virulent than the one in his head. He had been avoiding even considering it until he was truly desperate. Not only was he truly desperate now, but in his opinion, Jim desperately needed to be taught a lesson. And at least the song was _technically_ country.

"Computer," McCoy said. "Play _Achy, Breaky Heart_, line dance version, circa 1990."

Jim chuckled when it came on and actually tapped his toes. "I gotta add that to my lisht." he slurred.

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Jim woke up the next morning splayed, still fully clothed, across his bed. The last drops of a bottle of Jack Daniels had dribbled onto his pillow and a peppy, repetitive song was playing somewhere, making his head pound even more than the after-effects of at least half a fifth of real whiskey.

"Computer. Stop. Music."

"No music is playing." the computer's automated voice responded.

"What'dya mean, no music is playing?" Jim held his head.

"No music is playing at this time." the computer chirped.

"Uhhhhnnnn." Jim groaned, realizing it was playing in his head. Well, it would go away soon. He headed to the bathroom, located analgesic, swallowed it and stepped into the sonic shower. The thrum of the shower made a rhythm, and soon he found himself unconsciously singing,

_But don't tell my heart, my achy breaky heart,..._

He stopped. No, this was not getting a hold on him. Like he told Bones, he had too much else going on, for instance, the morning meeting with the department heads. He began running through the agenda while brushed his teeth. The agenda items started falling into a distinct rhythm. No!

Jim got out and went to get dressed. As he started to put his clothes on, lyrics jumped into his head

_You can tell the world you never was my girl,_

_you can burn my clothes up when I'm gone..._

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By lunch, the tune had plagued Jim all day, but it was, he thought, finally beginning to subside. He looked up from his table to see Bones coming over, looking happier than yesterday. The doctor came over and sat down. Humming. Jim glared at him.

"Something wrong?" Bones asked innocently.

"Just please stop humming." Jim said miserably.

"Oh, sorry. Didn't realize I humming. It's just such a catchy tune."

"Yeah." Jim said flatly. "Catchy. Like an infectious disease."

"Don't tell me a hot, brilliant young thing like _you_ has got a song stuck in his head." Bones drawled.

"I notice you seem to have it too." Jim said with a thin smile. "Was it worth it to get rid of -"

Bones suddenly had a bread knife gripped in his hand like a scalpel, pointed right at Jim's nose. "Don't even think of mentioning it. This song may be bad, but at least it's upbeat and it doesn't make me think of my ex."

"Fine." Jim said leaning back. "But you stuck me with this hideous thing, and after I was up all night trying to help you. So, well,... you know the title of the song."

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_Had to take a break from my full-length fic (anyone still reading it?) and write a little crack, esp. after being accidentally infected by the earworm that is _Achy, Breaky Heart.

_The title song comes from a mid-90s newspaper contest to come up with the worst made up country music titles. The funny thing is that that title has actually made it onto several lists of worst real country song titles, even though you can't find any reference to an actual recording of it anywhere. But I figure it's only a matter of time (certainly no longer than 230 years). _

*Redneck Martians Stole My Baby _and_ Legendary Chicken Fairy _are actual songs._

_P.S., just in case I've infected anyone else with _Achy, Breaky Heart, _the cure is Weird Al's version: _That Achy Breaky Song

_...Don't play that song_

_That "Achy Breaky" song_

_The most annoying song I know_

_And if you play that song_

_That "Achy Breaky" song_

_I might blow up my radio, ooo-woo... _


End file.
